


Hushed Awakenings

by hotaruyy



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dreaming, Gen, Hints at Canonical Sexual Abuse that will only appear if you squint, Light Angst, POV Laurent (Captive Prince), Pre-Canon, Present Tense, basically this is after Marlas but before Auguste's funeral, but it's not too graphic, nor does it happen like in canon, present and past tense are used for different parts of the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 22:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11427750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotaruyy/pseuds/hotaruyy
Summary: Laurent whips around, a vast meadow greeting his sight. Then he spots the figure standing to the side, and his eyes widen.“Auguste?”Or, Laurent dreams.





	Hushed Awakenings

**Author's Note:**

> Laurent is my precious baby and I am so, _so_ sorry for hurting him.
> 
> Title for the fic comes from the poem [I Have a Rendezvous with Death](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/45077/i-have-a-rendezvous-with-death) by Alan Seeger.

Sunlight glares through the open window in Laurent’s room, casting a large golden square on the sapphire carpet. Almost like Auguste’s insignia. Even from the distance of his bed, Laurent can see dust glinting dully in the light, drifting around the heavy mahogany curtains.

On a whim, Laurent gets up and pads to the window. He used to climb the outer walls with Auguste when they were younger, and now he retraces the familiar hand and footholds down the wall. Laurent lets go when he's near enough to the stone-paved ground, feet landing quietly on –

Grass?

He whips around, a vast meadow greeting his sight. Then he spots the figure standing to the side, and his eyes widen.

“Auguste?”

A sense of longing colours his voice, although Laurent can’t recall the reason he feels that way.

“Auguste, why are you here?”

* * *

His five-year-old cries and hiccups in the patter of the rain sounds, retrospectively, extremely weak and pathetic.

"Auguste! Where- where are you?"

Auguste had taken him to this meadow, promising lush pastures and the occasional carnation in summer if they were lucky. But it had begun to rain, and his brother had gone missing. Presumably, his younger self naively thought that Auguste had abandoned him, so he had begun to wail.

Through the veil of his tears and the rain, young Laurent saw Auguste rushing over, clothes sagging with water, then felt a pair of warm arms envelop him.

"Don’t…” he sobbed, “Don’t leave me, please, Auguste, don’t go…"

Auguste’s grip around him tightened, and Laurent felt Auguste smile against his hair.

“Couldn’t get rid of me even if you wanted to.”

 

This was his first memory of the meadow.

* * *

Auguste smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

The meadow doesn’t look any different from Laurent’s memories, but it seems like ages have passed since the last time Auguste took him here. It was his eleventh birthday, and they were escaping from the mob of well-wishers. Father spent an hour giving them a dressing-down once they got back, but it was entirely worth Auguste’s grins and laughter as they rode their horses around the meadow bareback. At the moment, however, those memories somehow feel bittersweet.

The grass around him sways elegantly in the slight breeze, forming waves and waves of green. At the tickle that he feels underfoot, Laurent looks down to find his feet bare. The wind caresses his face, and makes Auguste’s hair flutter like open pages of a book in the wind, the strands golden and vibrant, exactly like his brother. He will make a good king, Laurent feels in his bones, and is infinitely proud of his brother.

Auguste takes his hand and pulls him up a small hill, his laughter trailing behind. Their feet dig into the soft grass, scrabbling for purchase. His brother’s hand is rough and familiar in his, but...

"Auguste, why is your hand so cold?"

Seeming not to have heard the question, his brother sits on the crest of the hill and tugs Laurent down as well. The slanting rays of the sun catch the embroidery on Auguste’s tunic, making them shimmer. Suddenly, wounds start appearing on Auguste’s body. Stab wounds on his legs. An arrow protruding from his shoulder. A knife in his abdomen. And a sword, right through his heart. The blood flows down his body and dyes the grass bright red. Tears spill from Auguste’s eyes, turning to blood halfway down his cheeks, red trails dripping onto the hilt of the sword. Panic bursts in Laurent’s chest despite his confusion.

“We need to get you to a physician right now, come on, move!”

But through the mist of his own frightened tears he realizes that, instead of heading in the direction of the castle, Auguste is walking towards the sun, the light from it growing brighter. Laurent vaguely registers that he cannot differentiate between the sky and the meadow spread before him.

“Where are you going? We need to get back!”

All that’s left of Auguste is a dark silhouette with golden edges, slowly shrinking with every step that he takes. With horrifying certainty, Laurent realises that Auguste isn’t planning to turn around, isn’t going to come back.

"Don’t leave me! You promised!”

Laurent, for once, doesn’t care if his voice has risen to a scream.

In the glare of the sun, Laurent thinks he sees Auguste turn around and smile.

 

Everything in sight turns blindingly white.

* * *

Eyes tingling, Laurent blinks awake. The square of sunlight has climbed from the carpet onto his bed, landing directly on his face. He squints in the light and becomes aware of the tears drying on his face.

Funny how his mind just has to drag supposedly good memories into the hellhole that was Marlas. He doesn’t suppose he could ever stand going back to that meadow after this dream.

Two sharp knocks from across the room cut through his thoughts. The door is pushed open by his uncle, and Laurent rushes to rub the tears from his face before he could notice.

“May I come in?” his uncle asks needlessly, already stepping into the room. His eyes lock onto Laurent’s face, no doubt noticing the redness in Laurent’s eyes. Laurent still nods at the question, if only to hide his face behind his hair.

His uncle’s voice is smooth and gentle. “It’s time to dress for the funeral, Laurent,” he says, feet treading noiselessly on the carpet to sit next to Laurent on the bed.

“Yes, uncle,” Laurent intones, unmoving. He knows his uncle is his only family now, but it is still difficult to open up about… about events during the battle.

Sighing, his uncle’s unnervingly cold hands circle his wrists. “It has been a hard time. For both of us. We have both lost the people most important to us," he says, voice soft as the lacing of their clothes. “Can you come to my chambers tonight? I do not feel like it would be good for you to be alone immediately after the funeral.”

“Of course, uncle.”

“Thank you, Laurent. It soothes me to know that we do not have to fight this grief alone."

A gust of wind rushes through the window, whipping the shimmering dust into a mad dance, but the heavy curtains remain motionless, the rusty color of dried blood. With a wide smile, his uncle sweeps out the door, the quiet click as it shuts echoing through the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh someone needs to write an origin story for the Regent. I mean, there’s gotta be some reason he turned out to be such a sick, fucked up bastard.
> 
> Anyway, THANKS FOR READING! Laurent returns to the meadow many years later. With Damen. And they sit on the crest of that hill and talk about everything and Laurent introduces Damen to Auguste, who is up in the clouds, and they are _absolutely happy_.
> 
> Does the dream feel like a dream? Also my first attempt at writing in present tense, so what did you think? I chose this characterisation for Laurent because he’s still young, still, to some extent, trusting, and hasn’t been shaped by the following events in his life. I hope his characterisation makes sense.
> 
> For all you Captive Prince fans who are also somewhat affiliated with the MCU fandom, please please please consider reading this fic: [Catch and Release](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1001616/chapters/1983428) by Like_a_Hurricane. It’s like Captive Prince but on a much larger scale, with political maneuvering, epic battles, the smuttiest smut to ever smut, gorgeous worldbuilding, slow slowwwwww burn (relationship-wise, not physically), and lovable characters with all their lovable flaws.  
> Just a suggestion TEEHEE bye :D (don’t kill me if it’s not your cup of tea)


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